


Gemini Jive

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Darkwave Chronicles [5]
Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Bad Luck, Bounty Hunters, Drama, Humor, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-22 19:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12489492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: After Spike fully recovered from the events of Dead Star Shine the Bebop team engages in business as usual. Which means their plans to snag a big bounty end up landing them with unexpected baggage. LV Again marked because people draw the line at different places.





	1. Session 1

_ **Gemini Jive** _

 

_ **Session 1** _

 

_I can't believe we've wasted a whole day perched like pigeons._ Spike flicked the butt of his cigarette out the window. The glowing end tumbled three stories to land with a hiss in a puddle. He tapped the special glasses and let the search function do another sweep of the crowd winding through the Ganymede streets. Zilch. He sighed and stretched his legs out on the windowsill of the abandoned building. A slight thrill ran through him as he thought about the fact that there was nothing between him and a three-story plummet. Not like he hadn't plunged from that height before and lived to tell about it. 

 

Static over his com stole his attention from drifting off into a trance.  _“Yo, Faye, you got anything?”_

 

“ _Not unless you count a cold. Damn it's freezing on Ganymede in the winter!”_

 

Spike folded his arms across his chest, bare forearms touching. The breeze from outside pricked at the hairs, but he didn't so much as shiver. _Cold? Gimme a damn break. After my stint on Pluto, that over-dramatic crapshooter doesn't know a thing about cold!_ He cocked his head, belated thoughts wandering like a black cat through a midnight alley. _Heh … forgot about the old bat's cryo-stint. Well, maybe she does, but she slept through hers. Wish I could have slept more in that ice box. Damn ISSP._ He leaned back and sighed.

 

“ _Alright Spike, what about you?”_

 

Laying back a bit further, Spike opened his mouth and snored.

 

Jet growled, _“Knock it off, Pard. That isn't funny.”_

 

“Neither is this wild goose chase. Come on, that kook didn't know his head from the bottle in his hand. Derik Hedges wouldn't do a trade in broad daylight. The guy's been in the circuit too long.”

 

“ _You just want to go dig into a baked goose at the Cygnus Cafe.”_

 

Faye's laughter broke over the com. _“Of course he does. Spike always wants to skip to the eating part, except when it involves a Ganymede Rock Lobster.”_

 

“Really Faye? You're bringing that up **again**? A guy leaves something in the fridge until it mutates and hatches a new life form endangering the whole crew and no one will let him live it down.”

 

“ _Not on your life, lunkhead!”_

 

Jet interrupted, _“No food until we get the bounty.”_

 

Spike scowled even though no one could witness it. “Then how about we try something that will actually work rather than eavesdropping.”

 

“ _You got a better plan?”_

 

“Naw, I'm the guy that plays by instinct, remember?”

 

“ _Can you cut the sarcasm? I apologized for that remark.”_

 

“Mmm hmm, sure thing, Sun Tzu.” The fire escape groaned as he swung over to it and descended the rusty steps. Tucking away the glasses, he let his wrist brush up against the hilt of his Jericho holstered behind his back. Surrounded by a river of bustling people in the evening rush he passed two blocks. Hardly anyone even glanced his way.

 

Jet piped up,  _“Spike. You gonna clue me in on this plan?”_

 

“ _Does he ever?”_

 

“ _Ugh. You got a point.”_

 

Spike let a tight-lipped smile spread. In the distance his keen eye caught a man sweeping the front of a butcher's shop offering a furtive glance over a shoulder. A rail-thin thug across the street tugged the brim of his ball-cap down.

 

Hidden in his pockets Spike cracked his knuckles.

 

The shopkeeper laid the broom down and went inside the store. To average folks that meant nothing, but to Spike's former life as a syndicate member it was a bright flashing neon sign. Taking the long route, Spike walked around the block and came through the alley from the other direction. A heavy metal door set deep in the wall waited there. When he tested the knob, it turned.

 

_Looks like this joint serves up more than pork chops. Time to offer my skills to tenderize a little fresh meat._

 

He pushed through the door to a waft of raw meat and blood. Memories surged back from his days as a Red Dragon. He shook his head to banish the crashing wave. The shaft of light sliced through the chilled darkness. The bright red ball cap turned, below the brim two dilated eyes stared. The thug froze with his hand hovering over his gun hilt.

 

Spike laughed and held out his empty hands. “Relax, no need to get out the heat. Just wanna talk.”

 

“Don't know nothing.” He spat out. “You shouldn't be here. Whoever you are, get out!” His other hand splayed on the locked door behind him.

 

“Hey, what you got there?”

 

The hand grasped the gun, shaking. “I said, get out!”

 

“You don't know me.” Spike narrows his eyes. “But I'm really not the taking orders type. I need to see what you got behind you. So, I would suggest you move before I use you to open the door.”

 

He blinked, looked over his shoulder. A bead of sweat dripped down his face.

 

When he didn't move, Spike's smile intensified.  _Bingo, hello underbelly!_ In a flat out run he bull-rushed the door.

 

The thug bleated and threw himself out of the way a second before Spike slammed into the wooden barrier, delivering a violent kick. The frame shattered into splinters sending the door into the room on screeching hinges.

 

“ _Spike! What the hell is going on?”_

 

A naked light bulb swung from a fixture on the ceiling. It cast eerie shadows on figures in the room. A man in a cheap suit knelt on the floor, anger burned in his eyes. Above him a teenage boy, Spike gauged to be no older than fourteen, held a gun with both hands, his finger jittered on the trigger.

 

At the crash the boy jerked upright and stumbled. His victim seized the moment and swept his legs from beneath him, sending the boy toward the wall. A cart of bloody bones scattered.

 

Spike hunched down and barked as the man prepared to dart for him. “I'm no pushover!”

 

Of course he wasn't expecting the femur flung at his face. In an odd dance, Spike evaded the bone but not the flat-palmed strike at his chest. Breathless, he folded back against the wall cursing his vile luck. All he'd wanted was a little information, not a bloody brawl. Why couldn't things ever be simple?

 

It felt like an electrical jolt. His cybernetic eye caught the flash of ink on skin and automatically zeroed in. The intersecting lines of a geometric pattern blazed in his memory from the information file as the target tore out of the backroom.

 

“Shit! That was Derik!” Spike thrust off the wall and vaulted over the ball-cap idiot now crouched on the floor cupping his face, blood gushing between his fingers. _Someone's having a worse day than me for a change._ As swift as he could, Spike dashed out into the alley.

 

Nothing. Not to his left. Not to his right.

 

“Dammit!” He kicked a can and sent it ricocheting against the filthy bricks.

 

“ _Alright, Spike. Spill it! What the hell did I just hear?”_

 

“Me getting butchered.”

 

“ _You hurt?”_

 

“No, just pissed.” Spike shouted, “There goes our meal ticket—again!”

 

The click of a gun caught his attention. Spike turned slowly to find the grim-faced kid pointing the trembling barrel, unshed tears in his determined eyes.

 

Faye's voice cut over, punctuated by the clatter of her heels. _“Was the plan to let him get away?”_ Silence stretched on as Spike remained still, watching the boy's finger milking the trigger. _“Don't tell me you're such a baby that your feelings are too hurt to reply … Spike?”_

 

BANG!

 

Both Jet and Faye's voices squealed over the feed, _“SPIKE!”_

 


	2. Session 2

_ **Session 2** _

 

Spike's com device lay in the alley, the case dented by the large caliber slug. Electrical bolts and a plume of smoke announced the death of the device with a final squeal from the speaker. He glanced down at the make-shift shield he'd flung in the path of the bullet by sheer instinct.

 

“Well kid, that's just great. Jet's gonna be pissed about that. Now, put the heat away before you end up actually hitting something with a pulse.” He offered a hand to the teenager. As much as he hated kids, he just couldn't bring himself to strike. Besides, the Colt Commander's recoil had already deposited his insufficient mass up against the wall. By the glazed look in his eyes he seemed to have some sense knocked into him. Probably the first time he'd even fired a gun. Spike levered him up to his feet and checked to make sure he could stand.

 

The teenager wobbled a bit before running a hand through his black hair and coughing. Belatedly he glanced up at Spike, the daze instantly banished in a blaze of anger. He gripped Spike's jacket and tried unsuccessfully to haul him off his feet.

 

Spike chuckled, he had at least a foot over the kid and more than a handful of pounds. “Small-fry, this isn't gonna work for you. Now, tell me what you're doing with a piece?”

 

“None of your business! Jerk!”

 

“Jerk?” He pried the fingers from his jacket and brushed the wrinkles from his clothes. “I'm not the trigger-happy one—for once.”

 

Thrusting a finger at Spike, the teen yelled, “You screwed it all up. I had him until you busted through the damn door. That dick was mine!”

 

“Derik?” Spike took out a cigarette and lit it. “Kid, you gotta be kidding me if you think I'll believe for a second that you cornered a drug racketeer on your own.” Appraising the teen's street thread attire, Spike inclined his chin. “You're nothing but some wanna-be street thug.”

 

He brandished his fists. “Oh yeah? You won't say that after I kick your ass … you … you … suit!”

 

“Tsh! Is that your best shot?”

 

The guy with the ball-cap staggered out with his head back, hand still gripping his bleeding nose. Already the swelling showed and his speech distorted. “Taveon! Stop wasting time!”

 

“Shit!” Taveon scooped up his gun and dashed toward the alley's entrance.

 

Spike grabbed his arm and watched his feet fly up into the air with the momentum. “Not so fast. You think I'm gonna let you shoot and run, you little punk?”

 

“Don't even think about calling the cops!” He twisted in the firm grip, for a second Spike thought he might try and bite.

 

Around his cigarette Spike snorted, “Please. I don't need to call those incompetent morons to handle a micro-thug like you. Now, stop struggling and I'll put you down. I just want to talk.”

 

Taveon thrashed in the air for a bit longer before at last hanging limp with a scowl on his face, the gun in his seized hand.

 

Spike set him down and pocketed the Colt, despite his protest. “You don't need this at the moment. Not until you tell me why you were trying to let the daylight into Derik's brains.”

 

“Dickhead doesn't have brains.”

 

“Debatable.” Spike shrugged. Something about the teen's stance and tone bugged him. Not that he liked kids to begin with, but the whole  _ tough front _ scribbled mental notes. Dang his sense of profiling, an old habit from before that he couldn't shut off. “You ever tried asking a corpse questions?”

 

“Don't need to.” Taveon folded his arms across his chest. “Just need to sink a slug between his eyes.”

 

“Eh heh. Well, sorry kid. Can't let you do that. I need him alive.”

 

“You?” Jerking his head back, Taveon narrowed his eyes. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

 

Spike leaned over him and half-lidded his eyes. “Someone you are dangerously close to pissing off. Go home. Leave Derik Hedges to me.”

 

The wind stirred Taveon's hair over his eyes. He stomped a foot in the grimy street. “You owe me!”

 

Turning away, Spike put his hands in his pockets and slouched on his way out of the alley. “Try another spin on the wheel of fate, kiddo. Cause this one isn't on me. Tired of carrying everyone else's failures.”

 

“It's your fault he got away.” The slap of his shoes followed.

 

_ Teenagers. What is it with them never taking responsibility for shit going wrong? _ Spike's hand rested against the apprehended gun. He whistled a tune padding toward the docks where the  _ Bebop  _ floated. The big hulk of the re-purposed fishing vessel a site that Spike no longer took for granted. This ship and the crew members had somehow become his home and family, all while he hadn't realized it. Not until it had been torn away. The top of the tower, the near death victory over Vicious, the ISSP forcing his imprisonment in Quidlivun Cavus Prison on Pluto … those endless frigid months crystallized how much he craved a place, a sense of purpose. Before that rude wake-up call, he'd been too numbed to let himself feel any attachment. 

 

A shadow fell across the dock. Spike watched out of the corner of his eye as Taveon tailed him. The soft patter of his shoes slapping the deck echoed off the waterfront along with every snuffled inhale. He didn't have to follow the pillar of shadow weaving in his periphery. Hell, it didn't even take his cybernetic eye to catch it. Sad, really. If this kid thought his tactic was effective, he had another thing coming. And a lot of learning to do.

 

Faye and Jet converged on the dock. The moment they glimpsed Spike their eyes lit up, quickly followed by a barrage of yelling. The shadow vanished, melding into the dockside crates. Spike waved lazily at the pair. “Yo.”

 

“What the hell? You owe us an explanation!”

 

“You're supposed to be my partner, and yet you run off and then just let the line go dead!”

 

Spike tossed the slugged com device. “By the way, these are kinda bulletproof. Neat huh?”

 

“Damn.” Jet's jaw hung open. “Is that a forty-five? … Hey! Are you gonna replace this?”

 

Recovering from the shock, Faye turned her fury on him. “Where do you get off going into the line of fire like that? Spike, you idiot! Did you at least get something on the guy?”

 

“Yeah, he socked me in the chest. He's got a solid hook on him.”

 

She grabbed Spike's collar. “You let him get away?”

 

“I didn't  _ let  _ him do anything. Circumstances allowed him an opening.”

 

Jet ground his teeth. “Circumstances? We need to bag this guy if we're going to get the ship off Ganymede again. And you're telling me this dirt-bag gave you the slip? What circumstances?”

 

Spike leaned against a crate and picked up a river stone giving it a toss in his hand before he chucked it hard, skipping it across the dock beside the stacks. The teenager yelped and stumbled out into the open, the dying daylight washing over his pale complexion. “The circumstance's name is Taveon.”

 

Heat flared on the teen's cheeks before he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away.

 

Jet thundered with laughter. “This … this is what happened? Oh Spike-o, you've really lost your touch!”

 

“You think so, old man?” Spike offered him a half-lidded glare.

 

Faye glanced their way and instantly took a step back, hugging into her winter jacket. Creases of worry lined her face as Jet continued to guffaw.

 

The round house took him by surprise. With a yelp Jet tumbled into the water only to come up bobbing and spitting. Clouds of his breath formed as he bellowed, “Spike! You jack-ass!”

 

_Yup, everything is back to normal._

 


	3. Session 3

_ **Session 3** _

 

Spike pushed the headphones tighter over his ears, one leg crossed over the other as he laid on his back on the _Bebop's_ living room's couch. No music came through the speakers, but it didn't stop him from pretending it did as Faye leaned over him yammering on. Through the slight break in his eyelids he watched her without listening to one word of her caterwauling. _That woman missed her calling. She should have gone into government with her desire to hear her own voice._

 

Behind her, Ed slid down the railing from the bridge with her usual gleeful song. Ein thumped down the steps with a lolling grin. Springing over the couch, she grabbed onto Faye and swung around her like she was a pole. “Faye-Faye, guess what?”

 

To Spike's relief Faye shut her mouth for a second to offer Ed a glower. “I'm not in the mood for a guessing game. Can't you see I'm berating the lunkhead?”

 

Ed clung to her back like a monkey. She grinned and rolled her fingers on Faye's shoulder. “That trespasser is back on board.”

 

Faye shot Spike a death glare. “Are you listening to me?”

 

He continued his usual sleeping facade. Ed's toes grabbed onto the headphone cable and tugged on it. The connector fell from his pocket and hung in the air between Faye and Spike. “Yup. Lunkhead could hear you.”

 

With a snarl, Faye grabbed onto the cord and yanked the headphones free. “You insufferable low-life! Go deal with that kid who followed you home.”

 

Spike cracked open his eyes. “I've already carried him back out onto the dock four times. My arms are getting tired. You deal with him.”

 

“Who's fault is it that the kid won't leave? He says you took his gun and won't give it back.”

 

Leaning up on an elbow he shrugged. “The snot-nosed brat tried to shoot me, lay off. He shouldn't have a gun at his age.”

 

“What did you do with it?”

 

“I hid it somewhere no one will find it. Aren't you supposed to be getting information on where Derik went? I mean, since according to you the only one of us who managed to get into physical contact with the guy isn't fit to contribute anymore cause he's such a screw up.”

 

She folded her arms. “Spike, the fact is the guy got away from you. We need to get this bounty.”

 

He cocked an eyebrow. “And why are the funds so short, Faye? Shall we discuss that tiny detail?”

 

She tucked her chin and looked away. Ed climbed higher onto her shoulders and leaned forward like she was a jockey. “Faye-Faye's pony is lame-lame! Weeeee! Awwww … pony lost.”

 

Spike held out a hand palm up. “Mmm hmm. The entire safe. All our funds. On one _sure bet_. So who's mess are we _really_ undoing?”

 

“Shut up.” It was barely a mutter between clenched teeth, but Spike caught it and couldn't help the smug grin.

 

Ed tapped her shoulder looking back. “Faye-Faye … uhhh … Mr. Spike person …”

 

He rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, it's just Spike.”

 

She pointed a finger across the room. “Ein found the gun.”

 

Both Spike and Faye jerked upright. There in the doorway to the kitchen stood the smiling corgi, the Colt Commander wedged lengthwise in his jaw. The barrel pointed out towards the room. With every panted breath his tongue stroked the gun grip.

 

“Spike.” Faye pensively took a step back. “Did you make sure the safety was on?”

 

“You really think I'm that foolish? Of course I hit the safety.”

 

Ein adjusted the grip in his mouth. _Click!_

 

Everyone stiffened. Even Ed reacted, she slipped down Faye and darted behind the couch. Carefully, Spike edged to his feet, keeping his voice soft and reassuring, though it shook just a bit. “Ein, be a good boy now and drop the gun.”

 

The corgi shook off, his big ears flopping around. Spike and Faye both dove behind the couch. At the sound of claws clattering on the floor they peered over the back. Ein padded around the living room without a care.

 

Faye came around the side of the couch on her knees, she held out her hand. “Come here boy, drop the weapon.”

 

Giving her a snuff, Ein backed up and play bowed.

 

“You diminutive little shit!” Spike vaulted over the couch. Ein scrambled between his legs and dashed into a mad circle using the furniture as cover. “When I get my hands on you I'll teach you to obey!”

 

“Spike, don't chase him!” But Faye's words went unheard as Ein growled and darted around the chair.

 

Spike tried to cut him off. The low-rider slid through his grasp using his herding dog instincts to maneuver the chase. “Arg! Drop it or we're having dog chops tonight!”

 

The stump of a tail Ein possessed wagged furiously. Over his shoulder he winked at his scrambling pursuer.

 

“Cocky mongrel!” Leaping over the table, Spike pinned Ein to the ground with a palm across the neck. Ein's grip shifted.

 

BANG!

 

Spike froze, staring in the direction of the muzzle fire, the color drained from his face. “Oh shit! I'm so sorry, Faye!”

 

After a long held breath, Faye released a pained shriek as she gripped her shoulder.

 

*

 

Ed crawled forward and scooped Ein up from beneath Spike's limp grasp, the gun clunked to the floor. The dog cuddled into her, licking her cheek and whimpering. She whispered into his ear, “Oh Ein. You were a naughty boy.”

 

He buried his face under her chin.

 

From above, Jet's rushed footsteps echoed as he dashed down the bridge steps. “What the hell is going on in here? Why is Faye bleeding?”

 

In the commotion, Ed snuck toward the stairs hugging Ein tight to her.

 

Spike's voice cracked, “That damn mutt shot her!”

 

“You want me to believe that a dog pulled the trigger on a Colt Commander? His toes don't even fit in the guard.”

 

“Apparently nobody told him not to run with firearms in his mouth.”

 

Faye snapped, “If some idiot hadn't tackled him, maybe it wouldn't have gone off!”

 

The crack of a fist against flesh filled the air followed by Spike's howl, “Owww! Damn it, I apologized! That's gonna leave a mark.”

 

Ed glanced over her shoulder to find Faye with her hand still in the air, Spike covering his right eye. Anger bloomed on her cheeks in red splotches. “Gee Spike, I'm sorry. Now does that help any?”

 

Rubbing his eye, Spike reached for the gun. However, Jet intercepted it and pointed to the hallway. “Clean up this mess. Go fetch the kit and remove the bullet. We don't have the money for a doctor.”

 

“Jet!” Faye widened her eyes. “Not that klut—”

 

“Not another word! Spike put it in. Spike can take it out. He damn-well knows how.”

 

Rising to his feet, Spike held out a hand. “But I told you, I didn't pull the trigger.”

 

“I don't care if a dust bunny leapt out from beneath the couch with a blazing flamethrower. You two were in here. You two clean this up.” Jet folded his arms over his chest and huffed a breath.

 

“Alright, alright. I can take a hint.” With his hands in his pockets, Spike vanished down the hall.

 

Clinging to the rail, Ed held Ein's squirming body. “Boy Ein, that didn't go well at all. Nuh uh.”

 

He whimpered and twisted out of her arms, tucking himself in the corner behind the console with his muzzle to the wall. The picture of a guilty dog, puppy eyes and all.

 

A finger tap on the railing turned her head. Crouched on the floor, she stared up with a blank expression for a moment before beaming with a smile at Taveon. “Edward gives her greetings to the trespasser. Hello tressss—passsser.”

 

Taveon glanced at her before turning back to the living room laid out below the railing. His narrowed eyes tracked the grumbling Spike returning with the medical kit to kneel next to Faye and demand her injured arm. All the while Jet stood with the Colt gripped in his cybernetic hand, watching sternly over the scene. “You talk funny.”

 

Ed cocked her head. “Ed talks just fine. Ed's friends understand Ed. Well, most of the time.”

 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Heh, you're special, aren't you.”

 

She beamed, “Everyone on _Bebop-Bebop_ is special!”

 

Taveon rolled his eyes.

 

The words fell out of her mouth in an animated gush. “No really. Jet owns the ship. He's an ex-ISSP agent who got his arm blown off. Blam blam! No more service for Mr. Sourpuss. But he cooks good food and orders us around. Faye-Faye is an ice girl who was frozen on Earth. Shhh, she's really old! And Ein is a really smart hacker dog.”

 

“Yeah, right.” He smirked at the cowering corgi.

 

“Spike is the coolest, though.” She swung up onto the railing and gripped it with her toes. “Spike-person used to be a bad man. He was a Red Dragon until he left them because of some reason he's hush-hush about. When they came after him, Spike-person blew up their tower and the syndicate went bye-bye.” She mimicked holding a gun and throwing grenades. “Pew pew! Kaboom! No more dragons. Spike's back to being a cowboy now. Yehaw!”

 

For a moment Taveon held his breath, his eyes widened. Placing his hands on the railing he leaned forward staring straight at Spike as he held up a small scalpel. Faye pulled her shoulder away berating him even as Spike threw Jet a wry glare, his right eyelid already turning dark purple.

 

“Jet says Spike has a huge debt with Karma.” Ed scratched her head. “But Ed doesn't think Spike knows anyone named Karma. Do you think she's a woman? Spike gets in lots of trouble with women. They like to hit him a lot.”

 

Taveon kept his voice low, “That man down there used to be in a syndicate? He's the psycho who destroyed the Red Dragons?”

 

“Yup.” Ed rocked back and forth. “Our lunkhead did that. He's a good man now. Catches bad guys. We've even saved planets and stuff. _Bebop-Bebop_ is the best crew to be part of.” Her belly growled, she blushed. “Even if we go hungry a lot cause Faye-Faye feeds the ponies which makes Jet yell at her. Guess she deserves it.”

 

Taveon gripped her arms. “But Spike was in a syndicate?”

 

She stiffened and nodded, “Well yeah, that's what Ed said. Why?”

 

Slowly, Taveon smiled and released her. “Hey, I need to chat with your friend, but he doesn't seem to want me around. How can I get Spike's attention?”

 

“No one can make Spike do anything … well, except for Jet. Sometimes Jet can.” She shrugged. “Besides, Spike-person doesn't like kids. He only talks to Ed when she can find something for him on the computer … hrm, or sometimes when we play chess. Edward likes chess.”

 

He tapped the railing staring down at the rest of the _Bebop_ crew. “We're not kids, Edward.”

 

“We're not?” She cocked her head again. “But … ”

 

“I have to find a way to talk to him.” He narrowed his eyes down into the living room. “My life depends on it.”

 


	4. Session 4

**Session 4**

 

“Gah!” Spike grimaced as he tied off the bandage on her arm. “Faye, could you please remove your heel from my shin! There, the bullet's out and once that heals you'll be good as new,” his voice dropped to a mutter “ … and bitchy as ever.”

 

She twisted her heel before pulling back releasing a fresh howl from Spike. “I heard that.”

 

Offering Jet a baleful stare, Spike kept his mouth shut as he rubbed where her heel had been pressing. Jet kept tapping the side of the gun with his finger. “You two are going to learn to play nice if it kills you.”

 

“Oh, my aching arm.” Faye stretched out dramatically on the couch. “The pain is just too much to bear.”

 

A new spark of annoyance flared as Spike stood up and placed his hands on his hips. “Really? Here? You have your own room.”

 

“So do you,” she murmured.

 

He ground his jaw as she took possession his favorite spot on the whole ship.

 

“Ow, oh, the agony.”

 

“Milk it for all it's worth, Faye. Overacting _is_ your greatest talent.”

 

Jet rubbed his chin. “You know she has patched you up quite a few times, kid.”

 

“I got four words for that,” Spike groused. “Orange peel! Feather pillow!” A sly smile broke Faye's act. Spike rolled his eyes.

 

Chuckling, Jet thrust the gun into Spike's hand. “Something else for you to finish. And this time I don't want any more shots fired on **my** ship.”

 

Spike checked that the safety was engaged. “Did you kick the kid out?”

 

“No. That boy is about as talkative as you were. Had him up in the bridge with me until the commotion brought me down. He just sat there, giving me the stink-eye. Since he followed you, this is your responsibility. Deal with it.”

 

“This isn't like when Ein ended up here.” He brandished the gun and muttered, “where is that devious mutt?”

 

“Spike. You shoot Ein and you know what I'll do to you.”

 

That stilled his tongue. However, Faye jolted upright, her eyes wild. “Wait a minute. I get shot and it's no big deal. But if Spike shoots Ein you'll—”

 

In unison they glared her into silence. Slowly she slipped back down on the couch and closed her eyes. Spike sighed and pushed past Jet, stomping up the stairs to the bridge. “Since someone is laying down on the job, guess I better start tracking down the bounty.”

 

“I mean it, Spike. Deal with that kid.”

 

“Yeah yeah yeah. I heard you the first ten times.” Entering the bridge, Spike passed by the computer console and approached the bank of windows. Against the pin-lights of the night-cast Ganymede city his reflection gleamed like a ghost. The shiner over his right eye kept stealing his attention. “Damn, she really decked me.” His head bowed, the glimpse of the forty-five grasped in his hand tightened his chest.

 

He shut his eyes, fighting back the trembling. _Julia … the graveyard. Her hand outstretched with a Colt Commander aimed dead at his chest … the Colt Commander that didn't belong to her. The sorrow in her eyes, the pain of all the lost time, the betrayal … the surrender. The man who had forced her to flee—Vicious!_

 

He opened his eyes, dripping with sweat and panting like he'd just stormed the tower all over again. His grip on the gun shook. Movement caught his eye. He looked up and stared at the reflection in the windows.

 

Taveon stood behind him, eyes hungry for action and hair a tangled mess. His hands shoved in his pockets. The boy was more limb than substance trying to pull off a untouchable impression in a pair of loose jeans, a chain hanging from his wallet in the back pocket. A baggy t-shirt with suspicious stains, that looked more like ketchup than blood since it remained red when dry, and a dark faux leather jacket. He was all hood without a hoody.

 

But the impression struck Spike as surely as if someone fired the gun into his gut. Cold as ice. He blinked and the image of himself superimposed with the past. An adolescent version of himself stared back. A teenage punk with a Beretta shoved into his waistline. The identical hitch in the stance, the exact same hunger in the eyes. The unbridled youthful ignorance … Spike's jaw hung loose.

 

“You used to be a Red Dragon.” Taveon sauntered forward. “So I figure you'll get it.”

 

The Colt weighed more than its mass in his hand. His lip curled. “Oh, I'm readin' ya loud and clear, kid. And I got three words. No fuckin' way.”

 

The boy lifted his chin, half-hooding his eyes in an attempt to mimic as Spike turned around to face him. “The only way I can get in with the Bosses is to prove I put an end to Derik Hedges.”

 

“Then you can kiss that dead-end future good-bye. Cause I'm not going to let you do it.”

 

He ground his teeth, hands curling into fists at his side. “I have to do it! It's my initiation.”

 

Spike stabbed the air with the gun. “Precisely why I won't allow it.”

 

Taveon stomped forward, the edges of his eyes pinching together as he yelled, “That's the door to my future. If I can't pull off the task by the deadline, then—” His voice cracked and he abruptly turned away, trembling. The bravado vanished.

 

A lump grew in Spike's throat. The gun hung limp in his hand … so many years ago he had pulled the trigger for the first time. Just a foolish young light-finger who everyone had overlooked given one shot to change everything. Lured by the promise of a life, a future beyond the slum craters of Mars. How saccharine that dream was as he'd stared down the gun sight. In the naivity of youth he'd never had a clue how putrid that promise truly was. Though the katana wound had healed and the scar removed, a phantom twinge pestered him.

 

In his iciest tone, Spike forced out, “You'd be better off dead.”

 

“You don't know anything.” Taveon choked on the words.

 

“You know what?” He flung the gun on the light table. Shogi pieces from the ongoing game scattered. “I wish I _didn't_ know! I wish that I could go back to being a smart-ass know-it-all kid.”

 

With a growl, Taveon rounded on him. “I'm not a kid!”

 

Spike grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off his feet and out of the bridge. Despite the thrashing, nothing slowed Spike down as he thrust the boy out onto the bow of the ship. Every breath crystallized in the air as Taveon huffed and puffed. The rage in his eyes drove Spike's resolve ever deeper. “You **are** a kid! And just like a kid you want to do shit you shouldn't. Shit you can't ever take back.”

 

“Why would I take it back? When I'm in the Bosses I'll have power. I'll have a future.” Something flashed in his eyes, the flicker was brief, but Spike caught it. Fear?

 

When Taveon threw his chest out a pendant swung out on a chain. Spike snatched it, pulling him in closer by the chain. Taveon tried to get it back, but with great care. The small object looked like the preserved hind limb of a rodent. Perhaps the Earth tradition of a lucky rabbit's foot? The faint scratch marks on the metal clamp were hard to make out, but that wasn't a T. It appeared to be a P? Spike shifted an appraising gaze to the kid. “The original owner of this. Dead or alive?”

 

Taveon swallowed, his hands hovered in the air. Slowly, he studied his shoes. “A … alive … they, they have him. My brother, Pasquale. If I don't kill Derik … ” his shoulders slumped, “ … neither of us will live.”

 

No one had tried to still Spike's finger on the first pull all those years ago. No one had pulled the gilded curtain back and shown him the terrible price of his unbreakable vow. He'd only had the ignorant company of other power-hungry youths itching to prove to the galaxy they could take it all on.

 

… _fools_ …

 

Holding up the rabbit's foot, Spike forced Taveon to meet his stern gaze. “And if you do, they own your short, miserable life. Is that what you want?”

 

*

 

Ein snuffed the air of the bridge, circling around the table with all the little wooden bits on it. The unfamiliar scent drew him. The components broke down in his nostrils: several different types of metal, the bitter tang of oil, sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter. But this object didn't belong here. This _toy_ smelled off, like the strange boy that kept wandering onto the ship. It smelled like trouble.

 

Placing his front paws on the side of the table he arched his head and glimpsed the hilt of the gun. He snuffed his stinging nostrils and dropped back to the ground. With a running start, Ein bunny hopped on his short legs atop the table and landed next to the very object. The cursed gun. He eyeballed the safety. It was engaged. The last thing he wanted was another accident. The fact it had gone off mortified him. His ears fell back as he remembered Faye's shriek. And of course Spike's enraged denial as he'd been blamed. This wasn't going to smooth things over with _that_ relationship any.

 

Carefully picking up the gun, Ein held it by the top of the barrel this time, letting the muzzle aim off to the side this time. Hopping down from the table, he thumped along on his stubby legs down the bridge stairs and slunk through the living room.

 

The aroma of food drifted from the kitchen … well, sort of food. Hot water boiling, noodles next to the pot, the steam enhancing the scent. No meat. There hadn't been meat in months now. Not even for Ein. The cans of food they opened, though Jet tried to convince him were dog food, were in fact beans. Even if Ein hadn't been able to read the label, he knew the difference.

 

On the couch, Faye thumbed through a fashion magazine. The overpowering scent of her floral perfume plugged his nose almost making him sneeze. Sweetly, she remarked while turning page, “Jet, are you going to boil eggs for dinner?”

 

A moment later Jet's voice echoed from the kitchen, “Not unless you have some stashed away somewhere.”

 

“Oh, but eggs would help me heal,” she whined.

 

“Tough.”

 

 _Humans, heh._ Ein turned away and quietly padded into the hallway with none being the wiser. In a storage room he followed the sound of snoring up to Ed and placed his cold nose against her cheek.

 

Ed opened her eyes and smacked her lips sleepily. “Whatcha got there, boy?”

 

He laid the gun on the metal deck plate and backed up. His ears folded back as he whimpered softly.

 

Ed held her breath before picking it up like the thing were a viper poised to strike. “Uh oh. This is not a toy.”

 

Ein shook his head vigorously and then nudged one of the sacks on the floor.

 

Perceptive as ever, and the only one who seemed to comprehend his signals, Ed got to her bare feet. “Right. Where shall we hide this so no one will find it?”

 

Ein scampered to the doorway and barked.

 

“Lead the way!”

 


	5. Session 5

_ **Session 5** _

 

The wind across _Bebop's_ bow carried a thick spray off the churning water. A storm brewed overhead obliterating the starlight. Grimly Jet ducked into the protection of his winter jacket and forged out into the darkness. The signal light on the bow cast a faint illumination over a figure sitting with his legs over the edge. Out of the gray hues shrouded in mist the tint of a familiar bright red parka emerged. Jet let out a held breath. _Good, at least he'd had that much sense._ He shuddered as he recalled Spike reduced to lying on the couch coughing and rasping for breath. A sight he never wanted to see again.

 

A trail of cigarette smoke threaded away as the wind shredded it. The red ember glow ebbed in the onslaught, hissing out in a damp gust. Spike didn't seem to notice, the unburnt remainder of the cigarette hung between his lips.

 

Jet stood at the edge just off-center. Spike looked like some strange figurehead gazing out into the turbulent sea of another time, but he too was off to the other side. Taped to the center of the bow a pinwheel spun into a blur of bright colors inches from Spike's shoulder.

 

After a full minute passed, Jet cleared his throat. “Hey. We ate dinner an hour ago.”

 

Spike's reply was nothing more than a slow turn of his head.

 

Jet blinked and leaned forward. “That is one helluva shiner. Didn't think she hit you _that_ hard, but was that really hard enough to keep you from eating? Talk about an epic moment.” He tried to laugh, but it died as Spike turned back to gazing out at the water.

 

Distantly, Spike pulled the cigarette from his mouth and studied it for too long before flicking it into the water.

 

 _This is more serious than I thought._ Heaving a sigh, Jet eased himself down on the rocking deck. “Alright, out with it. Something's got you in a funk and you don't get this way over a rogue punch.” He took out two cigarettes, lighting one and handing it to Spike before lighting his own. “Let's hear it, buddy.”

 

“Ties.” The word weighed between them, marked with a grave tone. Jet leaned his elbows on his knees and waited, aware that his partner at a true loss for words was rare. Spike wasn't being stubborn, his still eyes betrayed how deeply locked in thought he was … almost … haunted. That was the word. The ship bobbed up and down a dozen times before he shook his head slowly. “Why can't I walk away from this?”

 

“It's the kid, isn't it.”

 

He nodded, shutting his eyes. “This isn't my problem … and yet … damn it, I'm the only one who can stop it.”

 

“Ya gotta give me more than that to work with, pard.”

 

Spike sighed and gazed toward the city lights. “Once Taveon pulls the trigger on his initiation they'll have taken all his choices. I can't let him pledge his life to that empty promise. He'll be locked in a brutal spiral of loyalty until those thieving bastards lay him out as a sacrifice.” The corner of his left eye pinched tight. Pain? Regret?

 

Jet inhaled a breath of smoke as he pondered. “I gotta ask. You hate kids, so why do you give two woolongs what happens to this one?”

 

The deep swallow before Spike bowed his head carried over the rushing waves. His voice no more than a shuddering whisper, “Karma sure is a friggin' bitch, isn't she. It's because … just like him … no one really gave me a choice.”

 

“So, you're going to be his hero.” Jet rubbed the top of his bald head. “Heh, you're really awake from that messed up dream after all, aren't ya..”

 

Spike took a long drag from the cigarette, his elbows on his knees took all his weight. “I've been painfully awake for a while now.”

 

“The tower?”

 

He shook his head, his hair hanging in frost covered strands. “A different rooftop … ” He huddled deeper into the parka, hiding his face. “Everything I ever wanted … but realized I valued, slipped through my grasp. I wasted so many years on empty promises bleeding for a hollow empire. Now that naive boy toes the same line ready to pay the price he doesn't begin to understand. There's nothing noble about what I did, Jet.”

 

The edge of Spike's voice cut deep. Jet lifted his hand to place it on his shoulder, but thought better of it. He completed the gesture by rubbing his chin and gazing at the choppy bay. “Currents keep flowing downriver. Once the water has passed we can't redirect it.”

 

Spike emerged from hiding in his parka to take another drag. He let his breath drift out into the growing gale. “Man you really suck at quotes. You're talking about water under the bridge.”

 

“Yeah, I am. And it applies.” Jet leaned back. “Stop letting your past haunt you. You buried that under the stone rubble. Doesn't mean you can't change things for this kid. That water is under us now. So, what are you going to do?”

 

His hand drifted over to the stem of the furiously spinning pinwheel, but his eyes remained distant. “Standing in his way isn't enough. If I'm readin' him right he's a lot like I was, he'll find a way to make his initiation shot and finish Derik. Taveon needs another solution. One he isn't equipped to provide.” He looked to Jet, determination marking his frosted face. “I'm sorry, buddy. But I'm gonna have to change my target.”

 

A slight smile edged up beneath Jet's scruffy whiskers. “If anybody knows how to bury a syndicate, it's you. Alright. Do what you gotta do. Faye and I should be able to handle Derik.” He took a breath of the smoke. “Where's the kid?”

 

Spike's shoulders relaxed a bit. “He's sleeping. Put him in Faye's quarters.”

 

“Whuh?”

 

“Well, couldn't put him in mine. Mine is a weapon's locker again.”

 

Jet chuckled. “She's gonna be pissed at you.”

 

“She wasn't using it.” He sat up a little straighter.

 

After the laughter died down, Jet took a deep breath and watched the spin of the toy. Spike's hand gripped the secured stem clearly without his knowledge. “Edward,” Jet sighed.

 

Spike belatedly glanced at the object and smirked. “Again? How many of these damn things do we have to burn up on leaving atmo before she realizes the futility?”

 

“I suspect until she runs out of them. Every time we land she replaces it. Haven't found the box.”

 

“Come to think of it … ” Spike intercepted the spinning pinwheel with a finger, the fins jerked trying to continue as the gale picked up. “ … don't think it's about how long they stay. This is Ed we're talking about. She's not like the rest of us … ” a bit of sorrow marked the last word. “ … thankfully.”

 

The first heavy drops splattered on the deck. Jet labored to get to his feet and offered a hand to Spike. “Come on, buddy. Let's get out of the storm before we freeze to the ship.”

 

Spike locked the cigarette in between his lips and took the hand. On his feet, he slouched with his hands in his pocket. “If only it were that easy.”

 


	6. Session 6

_ **Session 6** _

 

In a smooth series of memorized motions Spike finished the maintenance on his Jericho and set the gun on the make-shift living room table. He proceeded to pack the kit away when his hand dashed over and snatched up the gun.

 

In mid-air, Taveon's hand hovered over the now empty space, his eyes wide.

 

Spike's pointed glare drilled him until he sought refuge looking at the floor. The moment the visual lecture hit home, Spike tucked the gun in the concealed holster and returned to putting the tools back. “Alright Ed, you got anything?”

 

Seated cross-legged on the floor, Ed pulled back her goggles and blinked. “Nyuuuuuh. The bad men don't show up.” She glanced at Taveon. “Don't you know something? Name? Place?”

 

He folded his arms and huffed. “Just like I told him. I'm not in yet. They haven't shown me a damn thing. And I doubt you guys can find them. They're a serious gang.”

 

Spike smirked. “If they were, they'd have a reputation. You got this all wrong, kid.”

 

“I'm not a—” A slug to his shoulder jolted the last word into oblivion. He gripped the upper arm, his jaw hung loose.

 

Spike ignored the gesture and picked up his new com-unit, hitting the sequences to get it in sync with the _Bebop_. “If anyone can dig up something on these dirt-bags, it's you, Ed. Now, crack those knuckles and try another search engine.”

 

“Yesss!” Ed grinned and stretched her arms over her head. Her goggles tumbled onto the floor. She reached down only to find Ein holding them in his mouth.

 

The corgi flicked the goggles into the air. They flipped and landed directly over his eyes. The lights flashed and Ein was in, immediately commencing a rapid search on Tomato.

 

Ed's fingers hovered uselessly as she attempted to read the screen before the rapid fire of text vanished.

 

Cursing, Spike smacked the side of the com, oblivious to the data-dog's net-dive. “Stupid things never work. Sync, damn you!”

 

Taveon leaned forward, staring over the table at the little dog. He mouthed, “no way.”

 

Window after window opened on the display, filled with text, then closed. Ein panted happily, his ears twitching like joysticks. A couple of the windows remained open, cross locking the scripts. A third window flashed up and spilled with a feed. At last it stilled.

 

Ed glanced between Tomato's display and Ein. The corgi executed a 'head bang' and sent the goggles to the floor before padding off with his nose in the air.

 

Spike hit the com hard and it squealed into life. “About time. Alright, what go you got?”

 

She pressed a finger to her lip. “There's a connection to Pollux.”

 

Spike half-lidded his eyes and sighed. “What is Pollux?”

 

“Looks like it's a bar with a pool.”

 

Taveon wrinkled his nose. “That's ridiculous!”

 

But Ed's intell only brought a sly smile to Spike. “You mean it's a pool hall. I can work with that.”

 

*

 

The Castor Club sparkled like the inside of a diamond. Mirrored glass lined nearly every surface from the pillars to the bar surface. Seated at the bar, Faye pondered how much glass cleaner this place must buy stock in. She let the feather stole slip from her bare shoulder and smiled coyly at the man in the white suit now enamored with her. She lifted the martini glass and swirled it with a flirting stare. The gray-haired man loosened his tie and threw back his scotch glass. Everyone in this place was polished to the nines and had the woolongs to back it up. Well, everyone besides two.

 

Jet took a seat at the bar between Faye and the gawker. He tugged his fedora and muttered beneath the protection of the brim, “This plan is weak.”

 

She refreshed her Ganymede Lobster Red lipstick and popped her lips. “Non-sense. Just give it a bit more time, my loyal henchman. It will work.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

Running her polished nails up and down the stem of the glass she gave a coy wink. “Because no virile male can resist an invitation like I sent him.” The scarlet dress she wore left little to the imagination. “You said I owed you. I'm alright with dangling this bait to reel him in. Speaks more of him than me.”

 

“Ugg. Why do I have a feeling this isn't going to end well?”

 

She tucked her chin and grinned at Jet. “For him or me? Don't worry. I have mommy's little helper.”

 

Jet rubbed his chin as he looked her up and down. “Where could you possibly—”

 

“Wouldn't you like to know.” She leaned over the bar a little more, letting the tight fabric of the dress cup her.

 

There was no hiding the blush on Jet's face for the second it flared. His eyes caught the shifting of a man pushing through the crowd and craning his neck. Dark brown beady eyes, slicked black hair. The guy looked like a cheap salesman out of place in the ritzy atmosphere in his off the rack suit in a rough gray with a wide fake-silk tie. Adjusting his own satin tie, Jet ducked his chin. “Little Red Riding Hood, your wolf has arrived.”

 

Faye finished off her martini and set the glass on the counter. Sweetly, she whispered in Jet's ear, “Stand by, woodsman. Red's about to get her fur lined purse.”

 

 


	7. Session 7

_ **Session 7** _

 

Spike shuffled through the slush, each step made a squish that reminded him of stomping on overripe fruit beneath a hot sun. Only it was bitter cold out. Ducked in his parka he tried to ignore the echo of his footsteps. That damn kid hadn't listened and stayed back on the Bebop!

 

He didn't need to look to know that Taveon shadowed him. At least the snow had stopped following, but the biting wind continued to whip through the sloppy streets. Wasn't as bad as Callisto's icy grip, nor did it even enter the same arena as Pluto's eternal frozen wastelands. Spike huddled deeper in his parka seeking refuge from the memory.

 

A half block more and he glanced up to see the gilded lettering on the large windowpane. Pullox. Dim lights cast a welcoming glow over tables spread with green felt. A haze of smoke drifted in the still air. From this angle it was like staring into a smokey fish tank housing pool sharks. A thrill traveled down Spike's arms at the thought of once more holding a cue between his fingers. Already his mind started to engage the gears needed for those complex calculations. Of course, he was here on a stake-out, but there was no point in wasting good table time.

 

He pulled open the door and slid in out of the gale. The door barely closed before it opened again and the kid slipped inside puffing into his hands. The fool only had on a leather jacket, not something equipped for the winter storm.

 

Spike ignored the uninvited guest and used the gesture of lighting a cigarette to mask a sweep of the room. The majority of the players remained focused on their shots, the usual semi-serious crowd with money on the rails. Oh did Spike remember those days. To the point where saliva built in anticipation. Toward the bar a couple of men glanced up, tough brutes in cheap suits. They gave the door a cursory glance before returning to their conversation. The moment they overlooked Taveon, Spike's intuition whispered these men weren't part of the Bosses.

 

Stripping off his parka, Spike approached the barkeep and ordered a beer. He claimed a table in the back corner of the bar and hung up his jacket. Racking the balls, he eyed the group again. Twenty-two men, six women. A few of the women were actually playing, one in particular was clearing the table despite the man's efforts to get his lead back. The range of the players were a typical spread. The bulk were lousy shots, sinking by mere luck. A good margin were nominally skilled. Then there were a couple real skilled killers running the table.

 

Spike switched the cigarette to the left corner of his mouth, leaned over the table and lined up the cue ball. Shutting his left eye he pinpointed the precise angle he needed, the geometry working itself out in a rapid fire pattern. He drew back the tip and flicked the ball from beneath.

 

The cue ball traveled in an aerial arc into the center of the balls. Eyes turned to the THWACK! Spike stood upright, cigarette in hand as the balls scattered. Every solid colored ball slipped into a hole either via direct path or ricochet. The final one to go in was the eight ball. All the stripes remained. He grinned and leaned on the cue, a challenge in his eyes.

 

Along with most of the those in Pullox, Taveon stared at the table in awe. He peaked into the pocket beside Spike. “How did you do that?”

 

“Like anything,” he replied flatly, “practice.”

 

A bright eyed fellow with a cigar clamped between his teeth grabbed the woolong stack off his rail and came straight over. He slammed the stack on the railing with a toothy grin. “What level of shark are you?”

 

Spike scratched a temple in mock-thought. “There are levels?”

 

The man tugged on his cap. “Name's Casper.” Without waiting for a reply Casper retrieved the balls from the pockets and flipped them out onto the table.

 

Spike caught and arranged them in the rack in proper order this time, rather than the trick stack. Around his cigarette he replied, “Call me Spike. House rules?”

 

Casper folded his hands over the end of his cue. “Like your style, guppy.” He raised an eyebrow clearly expecting a reaction that Spike never gave him, he just withdrew the rack and waited patiently. “Right, coin flip determines who breaks. Usual first type sunk determines who gets solids or stripes. Called shots, must be in numerical order. Eight ball last of set to win. Unless that's too hard?”

 

Without even replying, Spike pulled out a coin and showed him both sides. “Your call.” He flicked it into the air.

 

“Heads!”

 

Snatching it out of the air, Spike slapped it on the back of his hand. “Tails.”

 

Casper moved out of the way as Spike put the coin back and pulled out a stack of woolongs. From the dark corner, Taveon watched as Spike set the cue ball and lined up the shot in a similar fashion. Only this time he didn't aim at the low point. As he drew back the cue he declared, “Ball one, close left corner pocket.”

 

“Hah! S'your funeral.”

 

Clack!

 

Like clockwork the pack split and the selected ball made a bee-line after a ricochet into the pocket off Spike's left. “Solids. My table.”

 

Casper's jaw hung limp and an odd animalistic squeal escaped him. The entire pool hall turned their undivided attention as Spike drilled the next shots on one after the next, in perfect order, every shot called.

 

Between Casper's white-knuckled grip his cue groaned from the tension. “You are a downright bull shark, Spike! How'd you get so good?”

 

All that remained on the table were the stripes and the eight. Spike leisurely leaned on his cue. “Wasted youth. Give you a break, pal. I'm after info, not cash. Put that stack away. If I make this shot you tell me what you know. Deal?”

 

“Damn, well … sure.”

 

Casper'd barely finished as the eight tipped into the called pocket right in front of him. Spike lifted his beer and gestured to a booth. They slipped into it, followed by Taveon. Casper eyed the kid for a moment before turning back to Spike. “Alright, you saved me a wad of cash. What you want to know?”

 

Taking a long draw off the beer, Spike eyed him. “What do you know about the Bosses?”

 

He flinched and glanced around before visibly relaxing. His voice came back lower, more tense. “Those bottomfeeding brutes? Don't wanna screw with their lot. Bad news. They're in the _insurance_ gig. Poor Mike has to fork out a fortune or they'll trash this joint. Trust me, they're killers.”

 

Spike leaned back and rested an arm over the back of the booth. Through half-lidded eyes he bored into Casper. “You got any names?”

 

He shook his head and sighed. “You got balls, and I don't mean pool balls, Spike. Roy's one of the bastards out here cracking skulls. Big guy, three times your weight. Usually he's flanked by two thugs, Dingus and Jax. They run the whole scheme this side of town. Mike's been forced to open his backroom to their meetings.”

 

“Backroom?” Spike raised an eyebrow.

 

Carefully concealing the gesture, Casper pointed to a shelf of nick-knacks between the restroom doors.

 

Abandoning the glass, Spike got up and ambled over despite Casper's protests. Behind the bar, Mike's color drained full away. With one firm shove, Spike pushed the shelf on its hinges.

 

Inside the backroom, three stunned men turned their wary gaze at the intrusion.

 

“Yo.” Spike waved his left hand, his right edging down to his gun. “Who's the boss here?”

 

 


	8. Session 8

_ **Session 8** _

 

“You incompetent fool!” Faye shoved the stunned Jet away from her. “You're fired. And don't think for a moment you'll find another job as a body guard.”

 

Jet blinked and staggered back.

 

His expression played into the reality. Faye, knowing he was a terrible fibber, kept him out of the loop to make the cover more realistic. “Are deaf as well as dumb? Get out of my sight!” She violently pointed across the room.

 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jet slunk off. Out of the corner of her eyes she spotted him as he slid behind a large ferny bush just as Mister cheap-suit took the now vacant seat. “Hey doll, you look troubled. Can I help yah?”

 

With a coy glance through her feather stole, Faye simpered, “Good help is so hard to find these days. Here I am all alone now, waiting to meet with a man who I hope can assist me. If not, I might be in deep water. Tell me, have you ever heard of a gentleman named Derik Hedges?”

 

He tugged on his tie and flashed a gold tooth. “You're the hot dame who me sent that photo? Whoa, sweetie, the lens does nothing for ya's. Now, what can I do for you?”

 

She leaned forward, distracting him with a fleeting view before artfully using the stole to conceal it. Oh, he was primed, the blood drained from his face. Even his eyes looked a bit distant. _Works every time._ “Word is you deal with strongmen who can protect businesses. Well, my jewelry emporium has been robbed repeatedly by thugs. Won't you help line me up with some muscle to keep the rats at bay?”

 

Derik tugged on his lapels and left behind wrinkles. “Aww, who could leave a sweetie like you in distress. Jewelry you say? I'm sure I can help you protect it.”

 

His intentions were written all over his face. Faye fought not to smirk as the glittering greed in his eyes declared he'd taken the bait hook, line and sinker. _The bit of intell was accurate. Looks like the rumor he runs an extortion scheme on the side of his drug operations is true. Probably to crimp anyone pushing onto his turf._

 

“You?” Faye blushed and ran her finger up his bared forearm. The man shuddered. “You would protect me personally? I would feel so much safer with you.” Just like the old cheezey love scenes she'd seen growing up, Faye leaned into him, low so she was looking up. After all didn't want him feeling threatened by height.

 

All Derik could manage was a blubbering.

 

_Still got it. Wasn't sure after hanging out with those sentimental bozos._ Faye fluttered her eyelashes.  _Then again, men are so predictable._

 

Faye watched over his shoulder as Jet slunk up using the waitstaff as cover. All she had to do was keep this fool occupied for a few more moments and then …

 

CRASH!

 

The front of the building erupted into chaos. Shards of glass flew everywhere. Patrons dashed out of the way as a wake of debris pierced into the center of the Castor Club. Faye and Jet craned their necks at four figures in the midst of rapid fire fist fight. Three burly thugs and one rail thin scrapper rained down blows. Jet gasped, “Spike?”

 

Sure enough their partner vaulted off one thug's back and delivered a kick to another, his eyes fierce and determined.

 

Faye straightened up, “Hey, what's he doing here? Damn it! He crashes all the best parties!”

 

Derik threw himself from the chair. “Oh shit!”

 

At that moment, Roy peered up from the floor where Spike had laid him out. He pointed and screamed, “Dingus! Jax! It's Hedges! Forget this prick and go after the target.”

 

In tandem, they seized Spike and threw him against the mirrored bar. He hit it in a spiderweb of cracks and flopped to the floor. All three Bosses shoved through the panicked crowd in hot pursuit of Derik tripping people to leave as many speed-bumps as possible behind him.

 

Both Jet and Faye found themselves thrown back by the passing thugs. A heartbeat later one very angry matradee glared between them and Spike.

 

Spike tried to scramble to his feet, but the shards of glass left him little traction. At the matradee's orders two waiters grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out the busted front window. A second later the matradee looked at Jet and Faye and pointed out. On the sidewalk he sneered, “Who is going to pay for this … this … damage?”

 

They glared at Spike who feigned innocence. “What? I didn't go through the window first. Dingus did.” One of the waiter's cuffed him hard. “Oww! Hey.”

 

“You idiot!” the matradee snapped. “Those men are part of the insurance company!”

 

He stiffened. “They got you too? Shit, how far does this go?”

 

“You'll pay for this, wretch.”

 

“Easy pal.” Spike held up his hands.

 

Faye fisted her hips. “Oh, I dunno, I think you deserve this. After all, you screwed things up on our end.”

 

“You had Derik?”

 

Jet flicked a hand. “Almost. Faye attracted him to a vulnerable damsel bit. She almost bought his security. Slipped away when he saw your boys. They sure got it out for one another.”

 

Spike ducked out from the waiter's hold. “Wait a sec, was he running a security scheme too?”

 

Jet nodded.

 

“Heh. No wonder the Bosses put a target on his head. I'll give you one guess what they do.”

 

Taveon stared at the destruction and kicked a bit of slush into a ball. His hollow eyes lost in the scene. He uttered nothing, but his body spoke of impatience.

 

Faye tapped her heel. “So it's a conflict of interest.”

 

“To the death.” Spike confirmed. “Looks like they're redefining head hunting.”

 

The matradee growled and smacked Spike's shoulder with his towel. “My restaurant is in shambles! Who is going to pay for this?”

 

The crew of Bebop looked at one another, each turning out empty pockets. All save the hidden one Spike kept the woolong stack in.

 


	9. Session 9

_ **Session 9** _

 

From his spot snuggled into the couch, Ein lifted his head and emitted a little squeaky whine in a yawn. On the floor Ed kicked her feet in the air. The bob and weave of her head moved the image of a spry dolphin on the game screen.

 

“Chase the sparkly minnows. Bap bap! Bye bye sharkies. Hehe.” The bright oceanic images flashed on the screen in tandem with Ed's flashing teeth. “Gotcha!”

 

Above her the door rumbled open followed by the clomping steps of the crew. Ed glanced up, caught their sour expressions and immediately turned back to the game. _Here comes the yelling, eeeeyaaaah._

 

Jet threw his fedora, which landed on Ein's head. The dog's ears shot up lifting the brim on one side as Jet's gravely voice rumbled the walls, “That's not an excuse, Spike! I don't care who was chasing who. You can't go around town like a wrecking ball in a china shop!”

 

Ein's ear lowered back down, putting him back in refuge under the hat.

 

With his hands in his pockets, Spike dropped down the steps muttering under his breath. Tiny chips of glass sparkled where they remained caught on his clothing.

 

Faye kicked off her heels and snapped, “It's a bull in a china shop.”

 

“What?” Jet paused in mid-motion of removing his tie.

 

“The saying, it's a bull.”

 

“Same difference!”

 

“It is not. But it doesn't matter. Now we not only have to come up with cash to get out of here, we have to fund the rebuilding of the Castor Club thanks to our resident lunkhead.”

 

Spike threw her a dark expression from the stair to the shower. “No. Now there's simply two of us responsible for being stuck here instead of just one. Right Faye?”

 

Tearing off the stole, Faye tossed it in a fluid gesture. “It's not the same thing.”

 

“Sure.” He continued down the stairs. “Bask in your delusions.”

 

With near silent steps, Taveon slipped beside Ed and sat down cross-legged. He stared at the screen sullenly. In the background Faye and Jet's grumbling faded away as they vanished down the hall. Ed guided the digital porpoise through a coral maze. “Don't be upset. For _Bebop_ failure is always an option. But they don't give up even when things get impossible. You know, like thousands of laser-shooting satellites trying to kill them in space, pew pew! That's a normal day. This is nothing. Hah! I see you sharky, bap bap! Bye bye!”

 

Taveon stared at the screen for a long time. His eyes closing halfway. “I coulda had it. Derik was right there. Right there! But he got away from all three of them.”

 

Still caught up in the game, Ed grinned. “Spike says _whatever shit happens, happens._ Yup, sucks the big one. But then you just gotta get in your spacecraft, arm your big ol' plasma cannon, and blast through it.”

 

“Violence solves everything.”

 

Ed's dolphin avatar did a barrel roll and slammed its tail into the nose of a shark sending it flying. “Ooo lala! Well, works for Spike I guess.”

 

Taveon leaned back and propped himself with his palms. “Kinda a hypocrite.”

 

On the screen a huge whale swam in and swallowed Ed's dolphin whole. For a moment she pouted before removing her goggles and cheering in a sing-song voice, “Hypocrite, little-bit. Honest not, fibs a lot.”

 

He scrunched up his nose. “And you trust this guy?”

 

“Who? Spike? Of course.” She hugged her knees. “Trust everyone on the _Bebop Bebop_ to be as they are, no matter what they are.”

 

“Umm, and what are they?”

 

She beamed. “A mess.”

 

Taveon flopped his head forward with a moan.

 

“S'ok though,” she continued as she watched her wriggling toes. “Sometimes a mess is the best solution.”

 

Point blank he stared at her. “How the hell have you guys survived in space?”

 

“Easy.” Ed hopped up and embraced one of the railings, caressing it. “ _Bebop_ takes care of us.”

 

It was a brief flicker, but Taveon's eyes teared up before he banished the impending threat. Looking away he attempted to restore his bravado. Ed rocked back and forth having seen it all before. From Jet to Faye to Spike, the full gambit of denials had played out on these decks. But she sensed a greater kinship to Taveon. The same longing in his eyes that she once felt—the drive that sent her to call out to the _Bebop._ A place to belong, home, family.

 

Her hand on his shoulder startled him. He snapped around in a poor attempt of defense. She suspected Spike would have laughed in his face and called him a scaredy-cat, or something. “Come on. Let's get something to eat.”

 

The moment she stood, Ein popped off the couch with the fedora still on his head and ambled toward the kitchen at her heels, the click of his claws a cadence in the quiet ship. Taveon followed, scratching his head. “Why are you being nice to me?”

 

Digging through the cupboards, Ed called back, “Why not? You're not a bad man. Only mean to bad people. Hrm, not much here … ohh! Look, peyokus!” She emerged from the cupboard with the beat-up box. A few of the Earth souvenirs rattled in their compartments. Her elbow bumped the counter and tipped the package. One of the little treat birds fell out and struck the floor with a solid CLUNK! The head shattered off.

 

“Nyyyoooo. These are rock hard.”

 

Taveon picked up the body and tapped it with a fingernail. He winced. “Think it might break teeth. Jeesh!”

 

Even Ein snuffed and shook his head at the remains on the floor.

 

Throwing the treat out, Taveon glanced into the open cupboards devoid of anything save empty packages. “I know where we can get some food.”

 

“You do?” Ed tossed the box on the table.

 

“Sure. Lots of food.”

 

She clapped her hands together. “Leeeet's go!”

 

At their feet, Ein frolicked around in a tight circle, yapping.

 


	10. Session 10

_ **Session 10** _

 

 

With great care Jet snipped a small twig from a bonsai tree and plucked it from the miniature landscaped pot with his white gloved fingers. 

 

“Why do I always gotta think,” he grumbled aloud to himself, “that things will be different? As always the funds have been gambled away, there's hardly a bite of food, and in the midst of a bounty hunt we've managed to rack up quite a fee for collateral damage. And still no bounty! Grrr!”

 

The tree trembled between his fingers as he prepared the next cut. 

 

His teeth ground and squealed. “All of them, let them all back on board and what happens? The same ol' shit. More trouble than they're worth. Even the damn dog needs food. Was better off alone.”

 

Snip.

 

A much larger section then he'd intended dropped. Jet pounded his fist against the counter. When he threw his head back to curse, a shadow caught his eye. 

 

Leaning around the door frame, Spike scratched his head. “Is it just me, or is it too quiet in here?”

 

Both men paused and listened. Since the ship floated in port, the only things running were heat and air circulation. The low rumble of the machinery coupled with the creak of the  _ Bebop _ on the rocking waves seemed far short of the usual sounds.

 

Spike glanced down the hall. “Reminds me of the silence before the girls and that damn dog crashed our party.”

 

“Probably just sleeping in the hall somewhere.” Jet tossed the branch he hadn't intended to snip into the trash and contemplated how he would fix the imbalance.

 

“I don't like it,” muttered Spike. “Besides Faye taking a nap on my spot, we got a dog and two kids on the ship. There should be more noise than this.”

 

Two kids. Jet sighed, he'd forgotten that the taciturn Taveon had followed them back to the ship. When was the last he'd seen him? When they'd returned hours ago. He'd gone to his room to change into his usual clothing. Spike had gone to his own room to get rid of the glass chips clinging to his suit. How Faye had managed to change out of her dress and beat Spike to the living room couch was indeed a miracle. Jet almost laughed, but instead his brows knit. Standing up he threw the gloves on the counter and called out, “Ein!”

 

Nothing. Out in the hall they looked both ways. Not a thing moved. 

 

“Ein, come here boy! I got food.”

 

No more response than before.

 

Jet pointed down the hall. “They have to be here somewhere. Do a sweep of the ship. I'll take the bridge area.”

 

Spike didn't even argue, he just nodded. That spoke volumes more than the veiled concern in his eyes. Since when did he give a rip about the Ed and Ein? The answer came to Jet as he strode past Spike's room … during Spike's recovery from his stint on Pluto. The change had been subtle, and if anyone was watching, he wouldn't let it show burying it with his usual scathing sarcasm. But Spike had warmed to the pair and their role in securing his freedom. 

 

Passing through the halls Jet found room after room empty. In the shafts of daylight nothing occupied the bridge. He dropped back down to the living room and checked up a maintenance hatch, nothing. A few other of Ed's favorite haunts scored no sign. Not even a hair of Ein.

 

He lingered beside the couch listening to Faye's faint snoring as Spike padded in with a defeated expression on his face. This had gone too far. Jet thudded his metal fist on the couch back. Faye started and nearly leapt off, she ended up panting on one knee. 

 

“What in the—”

 

“Sorry to disrupt your beauty sleep.” Jet leaned closer to her. “Have you seen the kids and the dog?”

 

She scrunched up her nose and folded her arms over her chest. “Seriously? You woke me up for something like that?”

 

“Yeah, Faye. I woke you up for that. Now answer the question, oh burden taking up space on my ship.”

 

“No.” She yawned and stretched. “I haven't seen them. Have you checked the hanger?”

 

Spike nodded. “Everything was sound in there. Was one of the first places I checked since Ed loves turning out monocrafts into remote control vehicles.”

 

“Kids and pets are small. They fit in tight places. Could be anywhere.”

 

Jet smirked. “Ein didn't come when I called out I had food.”

 

She did a double take at the guys. “Ok, that is serious!”

 

Turning away, Jet started toward the door. “Get up, we need to find them.”

 

Faye grabbed the keyboard to the computer and called up an app. “Hold on. If the mutt is missing he's easy to find.” 

 

From over her shoulder Spike arced an eyebrow. “You put a tracking bug on the dog?”

 

“Yeah. Taught his non-existent tail the last time he tried to run off with my food.” She cracked her fingers and entered the code. “Let's see where he is.”

 

They all moved into the screen, crowding to see as the map zoomed out, well away from the docks. Worry lined the faces of the  _ Bebop _ trio. 

 

*

 

Ed climbed into the broken window. Her grunts echoed inside the vast dark building. Outside, from below, she heard Ein's woofing from his perch on a couple of crates.

 

“You're almost in!” Taveon called out. “Just drop down and go to the door. You can unlock it from the inside.”

 

Her head filled with thoughts of plates heaped with food, Ed licked her lips and hung like a monkey. She let go and landed on a catwalk. Scampering along by feeling alone, she navigated the maze of walkways ever going down. Scant light reached through the dirt glazed panes. What did manage to make it through left faint outlines off the metal structures. This was a huge warehouse attached to a shut down plant of some kind. Dust shifted beneath her excited steps.

 

Swinging down, Ed's feet contacted cold concrete. Better than the slush outside. She wondered if her toes had turned blue. “Door, door, portal, window to another world. Reveal to me where are you?”

 

Her fingers danced along the wall as she searched. At last they hung up on a latch. She tugged it and the door swung open emitting a shaft of bright sunlight. Taveon stood in the doorway with a crooked smile on his face. “Alright! Now we can get to work.”

 

“Hehehe! Food for the _Bebop-Bebop_! Mmmm. What do we have here?” She bent down to read the writing on a crate.

 

Ein's warning growl caught her attention. She glanced up to spy Taveon's gun trained on her.

 


	11. Session 11

_ **Session 11** _

 

Spike braced his hand on the hilt of his gun. He gritted his teeth so hard they squealed. Faye stood beside the door where they both waited, anxiously gripping their guns. Slinging the huge hydraulic ramrod over his shoulder, Jet stomped up to the warehouse door. “If they harmed one hair on her head I swear I'll use the _Hammerhead_ 's engines to grill their faces.”

 

“Only if I leave them breathing,” Spike snarled. “Lowlife scumbags.”

 

Faye narrowed her eyes. “You know, not long ago that term applied to you.”

 

Both Jet and Spike replied in unison, “Shut up.”

 

Further squabbling was cut short by a series of screams from inside. Spike and Faye readied themselves as Jet lined up the rod to the weak edge of the door. He grunted and punched the trigger. In a thunderous explosion it launched the steel rod, not into but through the door, taking devastating chunks with it. One moment Jet's monolithic shadow filled the doorway. The next it was replaced by the swift figures of Spike and Faye instinctively finding cover in the dim stacks of the warehouse.

 

Chaos reigned. Shouting and panicked screams echoed deep in the building. The crew of the _Bebop_ did not relax. Spike's eyes roved in the shadows searching for a sign. Machinery buzzed and whirred. He took the lead with Faye falling in behind his shoulder. Jet joined them in line after reloading the rod. In their grim conga line they progressed through the dusty corridors drawn to the distant light spilling through the cracked windowpane.

 

Spike kicked the door open and brandished his gun meant for business. In a prolonged moment of shock the muzzle slowly fell to the floor even as Faye's jaw slackened. Jet broke the team's silence over the ruckus inside the room. “What the –”

 

Taveon, Roy, Dingus and Jax huddled in the corner of the room trapped by worker drones baring down on them wielding rusted implements of sharp varieties. Meanwhile, Ed sat crosslegged on a cabinet with a remote grasped in her hands watching through her goggles as Ein grinned madly from her lap. The high pitched screams hadn't been Ed at all.

 

“Uhhh, Ed?” Spike scratched his head. “What the hell is going on here?”

 

“Neeeeeooooorrrr!” She pressed the control and gave a toothy grin. “We're playing a game of tag, and the bad bad men are about to be it.”

 

In the middle of the floor, well out of the boy's reach, lay Taveon's gun. But by the panic in his eyes it was beyond obvious that he wasn't even considering anything besides keeping the sharp blades from his neck.

 

“Hehehe!” Ed chuckled. “Which one to tag first?”

 

“Help us!” they babbled. “Please!”

 

Jet lowered the ramrod and smirked. “Alright, Ed, hold up a second. Is there a reason you're turning them into pincushions? I thought you were friends with Taveon.”

 

“I was.” She paused on the remote. “Least Ed thought she was. Then Taveon tried to tie Ed up and hurt Ein. Not friends anymore. Now he's just shredded creep!”

 

Spike scowled and entered the room, approaching the cowering Taveon. “After all this? I told you I'd get you out of the gang situation and then you pull a dim-witted move? I should let her finish dealing with you.”

 

Clasping his hands, Taveon shook his head. “Don't let her! Get me out of this! Please!”

 

“Tsh. And you thought you were prepared for life in a gang. Can't even face down a hacker.”

 

Ed wriggled with glee. “Weeee! Hehehe! Edward can take care of herself and the bad bad men.”

 

The machines pressed forward, dangerously close to the cornered tugs. They yelped as the blades left little room to breathe.

 

Spike rubbed his chin. “This was a real piss-poor move, Taveon.”

 

“I didn't have a choice!”

 

“Sure you did. Stay on the ship and wait for me to deal with this. But no, instead you had to jeopardize my family … ” He paused on the word that slipped out before shaking his head. “Edward and Ein are my teammates. Now you have to give me one helluva reason not to let her finish her game with you.”

 

Taveon's voice rose higher. “I mean it! I didn't have a choice!”

 

Spike clicked his tongue. “Right, because your brother's life is at stake.”

 

A loud bang echoed through the warehouse. Lights flooded on everywhere. Above them on a walkway dozens of men surrounded them armed to the teeth. A broad-shouldered man in a brimmed hat frowned, folding his arms across his chest. Taveon stared up, terror on his face. His mouth flapped open and shut before he squeaked out, “I tried! Listen to me, I had a plan!”

 

“A plan? Really?” The man inclined his chin. “Was it to be pinned to the wall by assembly drones?”

 

Spike watched, gripping his gun a bit tighter. His instincts screamed to be wary of this one.

 

“No.” Taveon jerked upright evading the blades holding him at bay. “I brought the girl here to hold as captive. I was going to use her as leverage to make those losers bring Derik to us.”

 

“Losers?” Spike stiffened and glared at Taveon. He lifted a hand and gestured to Ed who joyously boxed in the four thugs more snugly.

 

Taveon ducked into his own hands. “Stop! Please! Someone help!”

 

No one moved. The man only leaned back and offered a grim smile. “Help you? But you are not even a Boss. They owe no allegiance. And those fools who were assigned to help you have done nothing but fail to corner the prey. I see no cause to lift a finger.”

 

Torn, Spike lingered there. The boy truly landed himself in hot water. But given the threat to Ed he now felt less inclined to free the boy from his fate. Regardless of a brother's threatened life, there still needed to be some sense in one's head to be a viable course for rehabbing. His plight might be dire, but Taveon had hardly followed Spike's strict instructions.

 

Still—he was just a stupid. hot-headed kid. Spike knew at that age he'd been just as foolish. Inch by inch, he committed his gun toward the man hoping that Faye and Jet followed suit.

 

Tavoen threw his head back. “I need more time! Give me another chance, Pasquale!”

 

Spike froze, his gun shook in his hand as he stared up at the face below the hat's brim. An older version of Taveon stared vehemently back.

 


	12. Session 12

_ **Session 12** _

 

One of goons on the walkway turned to Pasquale. “What are your orders, Sir?”

 

Spike's eyebrows knit even as his lip lifted. He spared a swift venomous glare at the cringing Taveon. “Your brother is the leader? That's hardly his life at risk, you liar!”

 

Pasquale shook his head and replied smoothly, “What a disappointment you turned out to be. It shames me to call you brother. Once more I am left to rectify your incompetence. This shall be the last time.” He raised a hand and the dozens of men at the railings locked eyes on him. “And what a heroic deed it shall be cut down in the act of bringing these enemies of ours to bear. Right?”

 

The men all grinned, their guns aiming down at their targets. Roy squirmed behind Dingus and Jax trying to use them as shields. Taveon had no such support and remained whimpering with a worker drone blade inches from his neck. The  _ Bebop  _ crew wasn't spared. Grimly, they all noted they too had gained the attentions of the gang. Except Ed with Ein still curled happily in her lap. She continued to harass the cornered bunch. 

 

From the center of the room Spike did a quick inventory of what hell was about to break loose. Things were not in their favor, save one thing. The remote in Ed's hand, if it was linked to the rest of the drones spread around the factory … he whistled to Ed. She glanced his way, cocking her head. He pointed up toward the walkway. Leaning backward, Ed stared up at the machines and instantly wriggled with glee. A second later, LED after LED brightened the darkness.

 

Pasquale and company didn't notice. He pantomimed great sorrow. “Oh what horrendous fate befell Taveon. At least he did not shame the family in his death.”

 

Flattened against the wall, Taveon shrieked, “Brother! Give me another chance. I won't shame the family. I promise, I swear!”

 

With hard eyes, Pasquale glared down at him. “Too late. Take your death like a man.”

 

A sharp saw blade cleaved through the air. Pasquale tumbled to the side, squealing like a stuck pig. From the top of the cabinet, Ed giggled madly as she leaned over the controller. Drones sprang to life spreading chaos throughout the entire building. Grown men became as panicked sheep darting from the threatening blades coming from all over.

 

In the midst of the distractions, Spike drove for the stairs to the walkway. A goon pressed forward holding a machine gun, he pumped the trigger. Only a clink sounded. Spike grinned and kicked the muzzle up into his face. The kick dislodged the kinked machinery and a barrage of bullets went off directly into the goon's chin. He fell like a blood-soaked rock. As Spike launched himself up the stairs he heard Jet's ramrod thud into several large, soft bodied objects. The rapport of Faye's gun echoed, men tumbled forward over the railings.

 

Clearing the stairs, Spike pressed on toward the stumbling Pasquale. He'd lost his wide brimmed hat and his sweat-slick hair flung droplets everywhere in his panicked flight. Hot on his trail several of the machines pursued him. In a full throttle run, Spike vaulted over several goons still debating whether to let the machines tear the Boss apart, or to wring his neck himself! Neither would be a pleasant fate.

 

Ed's joyous laughter filled the room accompanied by the most prominent sound, the whir of the machines she'd hacked.

 

“Ed!” Spike called out in mid-vault. “Hold up, we don't get a bounty for just the head.”

 

“Nyyyoooo!” 

 

The machines in pursuit of Pasquale slowed to a crawl, a rather death impending crawl. For Pasquale had managed to force himself into a end of the walkway. Backed against the wall, with his hands flat on the metal, he babbled and shut his eyes. All around the warehouse the goons now lay in either dead or incapacitated heaps. 

 

Leaping up onto the shoulders of one of the worker drones, Spike crouched and grinned. He fixed his gun on Pasquale lazily and waited for him to open his eyes. “Yo. You've been a bad brother.”

 

“Me? Me? I didn't screw things up—” 

 

The muzzle of the Jericho bearing between his eyes cut him off. Spike clicked his tongue. “Brothers are supposed to look out for one another. Not sign them up for a death ride. Pitiful. Your kind are all alike, you'll do anything to rise to power.” 

 

Pasquale shook his head. “He's been nothing but a shame to the family since he learned how to walk. I gave him plenty of chances.”

 

“To become a thug? Huh, that's rich.” He flicked the gun. “Well, now you get to show him the price for betrayal.”

 

“Who the hell are you?” Pasquale shuddered as he stared down the muzzle.

 

Leaning forward, Spike grinned down the site of his Jericho. “Some one who knows.”

 

He shut his eyes and screamed, until the blow from the butt of Spike's gun bashed him into unconsciousness. 

 

Jet glanced up and chuckled. “He still breathing?”

 

“For now.”

 

“Alright, let's see if we can score a nice hit on this security ring.”

 

Ed's worker drones commenced tethering up the gang with bailing wire.

 

*

 

Jet stirred the meat and vegetables in the pan. Beside him, Faye leaned against the wall, the smoke from her cigarette drifted up into the vent. “I can't believe those bozos were worth two-million woolongs. At least we get to eat again.”

 

“Bustin' up a whole ring like that, complete with lackeys, is a pretty nice score. Shame about the kid, though.”

 

Faye glanced out of the kitchen vaguely toward the crew's quarters. “Can't believe Spike didn't spring him. You know, with how … protective he was there.”

 

Jet heaved a sigh and turned down the heat as he added a sauce. “Guess it makes sense, though. Young or not, Taveon chose his path. A stint in a local jail should wake him up. The pressure of a family already involved in crime is hard to shake.”

 

“Still, he was just a young punk.”

 

“So was Spike,” Jet's voice faded off, “once.”

 

“Sounds like a fairy tale.” She sniffed. “But at least there's food this time. Mmm, real protein!” 

 

“Right, it's almost done. Go tell Spike.”

 

“Isn't he in the living room?” She blinked from the door only then noticing the empty couch. 

 

“Nope.” Jet flipped the food in the air and caught it in the pan. “Check his room.”

 

She sighed and wandered off to the crew quarters. Just down the hall an alarmed cry hastened her. She tore around the corner and stared through Spike's open door. 

 

He sat up in his bed, the white t-shirt clinging to his gasping frame. A gun dangled from between his fingers. “How the hell did Taveon's gun get under my pillow?”

 

Faye scratched her head. 

 

“Cartwheel, dartwheel!” Ed sang as she tumbled down the hallway. “Ooo la la la dee day!” On her heels Ein barked. However the corgi paused in the door and cocked his head to deliver a snuffling sneeze before romping onward without a care.

 

Disheveled and confused, Spike watched the circus and heaved a sigh. “Why do I even ask anymore?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Space Cowboy!


End file.
